


The One Where They're Boys

by zulu



Series: Parrot's Genderfuck [3]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: 07-03, F/F, Femslash, Genderfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-27
Updated: 2007-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:03:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cameron's apparently the only one who remembers that this is a <i>hospital</i> and that they're here to <i>work</i>.  That this really isn't about sex at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where They're Boys

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to 's [The One Where They're Girls And Cameron Can't Stand It](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/39608.html), which follows along behind all the other stories in 's crackilicious genderfuck universe, which are indexed [here](http://community.livejournal.com/parrotfic/12922.html). Beta by the talented genius of .

The tests have proved inconclusive--which, Cameron thinks, is only reasonable, since everything else about the entire world has proven to be completely _unreasonable_ lately. Their patient came to them because he--she--oh, hell; Cameron hates this--three weeks ago, the patient had what all her doctors assumed was an X-linked congenital condition. Now that she's a he, though, she's still exhibiting symptoms, and nobody can figure out if it's genetic, or psychosomatic, or just one more crazy aspect of the whole crazy situation. So she came to House on a referral from the long term care unit, but House is too busy _fondling himself_ and (if half the rumours are true) fucking everything in the hospital that moves, independent of gender (previous or current).

Cameron marches along the hospital corridors, cursing whoever thought it was a bright plan to leave so many walls entirely transparent. Of course, the architect probably never envisioned that every staff member and patient within Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital would one day wake up as the opposite gender and immediately think that the best way to try out their new equipment was by having it off in every possible location.

Cameron resolutely doesn't look. Because she's not like that. _She_ is faithful. Loyal. She thinks of James and she has to smile. Her penis picks up on the thought, but it doesn't try to strangle her with lust. Apparently regular sex with an actual partner really does calm the damn thing down. James is so sweet, and Cameron's beginning to think she finally understands why it's so much better to be engaged to a man who doesn't have a death sentence hanging over his head. She hasn't had time to buy a ring yet--James has his, of course, and he wanted to wait for the weekend to get hers, when they both have a day off together--but, well. It's love. And it's for keeps.

And if she has anything to say about it, then there is no way in hell they're going to have a foursome with House and Cuddy. (Except if they did, it would be amazingly hot. James is good, but Cameron has seen the way House enjoys a lollipop; and the gossip is he's been practicing on Cuddy every day at four, as soon as the credits roll on _General Hospital_. And if he's practicing that hard, and if he's that dedicated, and if he's got no gag reflex left from all those years of dry-swallowing pills...)

The point is, Cameron's apparently the only one who remembers that this is a _hospital_ and that they're here to _work_. That this really isn't about sex at all.

Well. Maybe it is about sex--the image of red silk against James' skin blooms in her mind and she has to talk herself down _again_\--but that doesn't mean there isn't work to be done. The only problem is, Cameron doesn't want to go back to the conference room. She might be engaged, and James _is_ wonderful, but, well, she's still not fully on board with the whole guy thing, and meanwhile, Chase and Foreman--not to mention House--have flung themselves into their roles in a way that's kind of disturbing and also kind of hot.

Which is disturbing.

It's a cycle.

Foreman's beautiful in that stunning way that fine bone structure and huge dark eyes always will be. He's bald, but he has the head for it, all cheekbones and a delicate arch of skull. He's tall for a woman, only an inch or two shorter than he used to be, and it wasn't long before he exchanged hand-me-down skirt-set combos for sleek body-hugging numbers and heels. Come-hither fuck-me three-inch stilettos, for God's sake, and there's a swing in his walk that Cameron doesn't want to think was always there, just waiting for a chance to come out and play.

Chase...well, there's really no other way to say it. Chase is a porn star. Smooth shining waves of blonde hair, breasts so full and round that Cameron would sniff _boob job_ to herself if she hadn't seen Chase awkwardly bobbling along like that since day one. And Chase's mouth--it's the mouth that God had in mind when he invented blowjobs (House says, and he adds, "Not that that's really a change, or anything,") and now Cameron can't not think that every time Chase speaks.

And when Cameron thinks about Chase's lips--that mouth--on her--she has to make a quick detour to the women's washroom. At which point she remembers that she took the wrong detour, and has to search the floor for a men's. By which point Cameron's got images running through her head--Chase, on his knees; Foreman's _ass_; House absently stroking his own nipple while they do the differential--and she's so hard that she barely makes it into the stall before she's got her pants open and she's sliding her hand into her shorts. The boxers weren't easy to get used to for the first week or so, while Cameron suffered from blue balls and didn't even know it; now she just appreciates easy access. She gets her dick in her hand and squeezes just this side of painful. The groan she lets out every time she does this has almost stopped surprising her--it's weirdly deep, but still familiar in her own ears.

When she does this (and she really can't believe how often she does), it's always hard and fast and guilty. Yeah, she's James' and he's hers, but even regular sex doesn't mean she can't take care of herself at work if she needs to--it's that or walk around with a hard-on half the day, and House always has a little smirk when he glances at her crotch that's infuriating and inflaming both at once. Cameron works her fist over her dick furiously until her forearm aches, but it's not enough. She thinks of James, curled into her sheets. God, sliding into him is like dipping her entire body into a lake of fire, and she's astonished that she didn't embarrass herself like a teenager the first time. She moves her hand from the base of her dick to the head, until the friction on her foreskin gets to be too much. She backs off until the pleasure takes over again, and then she spreads her legs a bit and reaches down with her left hand to cup her balls and work her fingers against that spot right behind them. That does it every time. The way her orgasm builds, now that she's a guy, is entirely predictable, but always explosive.

Cameron grabs some tissue and cleans herself up, and then zips her fly. She sighs and gathers up the test results that she's supposed to be taking to House, but when she gets close to his office, the blinds are closed. Cameron heads into the conference room, because she doesn't want to know who House has in there now.

Except that House has forgotten the blinds between his office and the conference room. And he's lying in his lounge chair, his right leg on the ottoman, his left stretched out to the side, and James is kneeling between his thighs. From the ecstatic look on House's face and his fingers buried in James' hair, James has been there for a while and he's not stopping any time soon.

Cameron's anger surprises her, and she has to unclench her fists. The crumpled test results fall to the conference table.

Wilson. Is such. A slut.

She should have known, that's the worst part. He's gone through three wives and now a fiancé and Cameron bets he didn't even think twice before letting House seduce him. Again. Wilson has been after her, in a coy sort of way, to give in and have a threesome, and while the idea of all that pussy made her dick stand up and take notice, she just couldn't get past the fact that Wilson was obviously angling more for himself than for her.

A month ago if this had happened, Cameron would probably go find a quiet corner to cry in. Now all she wants to do is punch someone, or smash something to bits. Fury blurs out her vision until she can't see straight, and she doesn't know what to do. She's got to get out of here. She heads down to the clinic, and her rage must show because everyone scatters out of her way as she goes.

Everyone, that is, except Cuddy. "Dr. Cameron," she says. "Can I see you for a moment?"

"No," she says, practically snarling right in her boss's face.

"In my office," Cuddy says, her voice low and commanding. "_Now_."

Cameron's taller, but Cuddy is broader, and she may have lost her breasts but her chest still fills a dress shirt amazingly well. Cameron clenches her fists again, but she's not ready to carry the mutiny as far as getting fired, so she stomps after Cuddy and slams her office door behind her. "What?" she barks.

"Trouble in paradise?" Cuddy sneers, crossing her arms in a way that used to emphasize her cleavage and now serves to show off the flex of her biceps. Cameron hates that; Cuddy is _built_, and next to her, Cameron looks like a skinny boy, gangly and awkward.

But bodybuilding so isn't the issue right now. "They're up there, in House's office, right now," Cameron says. "House doesn't want Wilson, he just wants to get eaten out!"

"Of course he does," Cuddy says. "He's House! He's been waiting to be a lesbian since college."

"Has he been waiting to get fucked by you for that long?" Cameron shoots back.

"Not anymore," Cuddy says, and she gives Cameron a look that's so purely male that Cameron's anger falls away. _Yeah, that's right, I tapped that_, Cuddy's saying, and Cameron can only grin back to say, _you lucky dog_.

"If you're waiting for Wilson to be faithful, you'll be left hanging a long time," Cuddy says, in that sympathetic tone of voice that guys have that sounds exactly like _you are such a loser_. "Might as well expect House to cuddle a bunny rabbit."

"I'm not," Cameron says, and the frustration's building again. She needs to set up a punching dummy somewhere to work out her testosterone on. Maybe it'll help build up her arms.

"Your problem is, you're still a girl," Cuddy says. Her eyes sweep down Cameron's body, and she smirks a bit.

Cameron digs her hands into her pockets and hunches her shoulders, scowling. "And Wilson's a man, so of course he's going to fuck around?"

"Of course he's going to...investigate the possibilities." Cuddy smiles hungrily, and Cameron freezes when she realizes exactly what Cuddy's implying.

"Are you coming on to me?" she asks, not incredulously like she might have once, but almost aggressively. She jerked off half an hour ago, but there's already a stir of interest down below and Cameron can't believe how indiscriminate dicks are when it looks like they might have a hand on them sometime soon.

Cuddy shrugs. "You still like men, don't you?"

Cameron blinks. She'd assumed when her body changed that the only real possibility left was women, but House and Wilson have certainly proved that wrong. But--she hasn't stopped fantasizing about men. Their butts. Their shoulders.

Cuddy's shoulders.

Oh, fuck.

"Yeah," she says, in a husky growl. This will show Wilson, that bastard.

"Good," Cuddy says. "Close the blinds. And lock the door."

"Everybody will know," Cameron says, even as she does as she's told.

"If that's going to stop you, then you can walk right out of here," Cuddy answers from behind her.

"I didn't say that..." Cameron's about to turn back from the door, but when she does Cuddy is right there. She pushes Cameron against the wall beside the office door and pins both her wrists in one hand. Cuddy's grip is incredibly strong, and her other hand is already busy on Cameron's belt. Cameron bucks her hips forward and fights to get her hands free, but Cuddy shoves her back again.

"You want this, don't you?" Cuddy asks. Cameron stares at her, bright blue eyes and her close-cropped black curls, and nods. Cuddy gets close enough that Cameron can feel the heat of her body through their layers of clothes and says, "Then stay still."

She leans in, then, and drags her teeth over Cameron's neck. Cameron hasn't shaved, much, because the angle's so awkward, but she hasn't really needed to, which is kind of sad. Cuddy's tongue rasps over the line of bristly hairs just under her jaw. Cuddy's mouth is wet and warm and her breath hits Cameron's throat just right. She's already half-hard and eager, and Cuddy's biting kisses are making her grunt and move forward, against Cuddy's restraining hand. Then Cuddy's got her pants open and her hand inside Cameron's boxers, on her dick. Cameron pushes her hips forward shamelessly, trying to figure out why this is always a thousand times better than her own grip. Maybe it's that Cuddy's hand is big and broad and warm, and her thumb's circling over the head in the perfect rhythm. Cameron gets fully erect so fast that for a moment she can't breathe.

"Nice," Cuddy says. Cameron finally notices that she's got her hands free; Cuddy's leaning into her, one arm propped on the wall beside her shoulder, the other hand busy in Cameron's pants. It's good, slow and a little rough, but Cameron's able to remember what she really wanted to see and she starts stripping off Cuddy's shirt and tie. Cuddy's arms and shoulders are just as nice as she'd hoped, muscles knotting and rolling under her skin. Cameron licks the line of Cuddy's collarbone, then sinks her teeth into the curve of muscle along her shoulder. Cuddy makes a pleased noise, and her fingers move quicker on Cameron's dick. Cameron moans into her shoulder, and gets her hands on those arms, starts kneading her biceps, then moves on. Cuddy's chest is firm and hairy under her palms, and Cameron pinches her nipples on her way down to see what kind of reaction she'll get. Cuddy practically _growls_ at her, and then sucks harder on her neck. Cameron moves her hands lower, struggles for a moment with Cuddy's pants, and then, a bit hesitantly, feels the bulge trapped inside her boxer-briefs. "Fuck," Cuddy hisses, and her own hand goes still.

"Cuddy," Cameron complains.

"My turn," Cuddy murmurs, low and throaty, and suddenly she's got them rearranged. Cuddy's the one against the wall and she's pushing down on Cameron's shoulders. "Suck it," she says. "I'll bet you're good at it."

Cameron's had enough practice that that's probably true, but she's never had to prove it before. She's never _wanted_ to prove it before. Now, though, there's some sort of crazy need to show off her skills, to prove she's at least as good as House, and maybe better. Cuddy's boxer-briefs are deep red, and they're stretched tight over her erection. There's already a spot of moisture just at the tip, and Cameron breathes just there, to feel Cuddy's muscular thighs tense under her hands. She peels off Cuddy's underwear slowly, surprised for a moment to find that Cuddy's circumcised, and she has to wonder whether gender-switch craziness respects cultural traditions or if Cuddy went out and got it done. On second thought, Cameron doesn't want to know; she's getting into this, even if she is a boy now and maybe it's crazy that she wants it; but Cuddy's scent is familiar, and the heat of her cock is turning Cameron's legs to jelly--it's a good thing she's already on her knees. She moves forward and then she's done it, she's taken Cuddy in her mouth, and she traces a vein with her tongue just to make Cuddy grab at her shoulder. She's forcing herself not to thrust, Cameron knows, and she smiles to herself and does her best to make Cuddy suffer long and deliciously. She licks and sucks, mindful of her teeth and Cuddy's rumbling groans above her, and lets her hand slide between her own legs to squeeze herself a little. The sensation makes her moan around Cuddy's cock, and Cuddy gasps.

"Enough," Cuddy says, and then she's manhandling Cameron again, pulling her so close that their erections slide together, slippery from Cameron's mouth, and oh, fuck, it's good. Then Cuddy's hands are on her again, and her fingers have found the spot--_that_ spot, right behind Cameron's balls, and Cameron groans.

"Like that?" Cuddy asks. "Bet you'd love it if I fucked you."

Cuddy's fingers rubbing against her asshole are completely persuasive, and Cameron says, "Please."

"On the desk." Cuddy moves across the office, opens a drawer and grabs a condom and some lube. Cameron's too turned on to bother worrying about the fact that Cuddy's way too prepared to make this all a coincidence. She follows her anyway, and then Cuddy's hand, hot and broad, is pushing her down over the desk, and Cuddy's cock is nudging her ass.

The lube's cold, but Cuddy's weight on top of her is welcome, and as soon as Cuddy reaches for that place behind her balls again, Cameron thinks very little could be better than this, not even fucking Wilson. Cuddy's fingers play over her sphincter, and she pours more lube on her hand until every movement slides between them. Cameron bites her lip and tries not to groan when Cuddy eases one finger deeper. It's tight, and edging on uncomfortable, but it's also strangely good. Cameron never realized how much she missed the feeling of having someone _in_ her until she had it again. Cuddy adds another finger, patiently, slowly. It hurts, but Cameron remembers Wilson's discomfort the first few times they were together, and she does her best to breathe through it. It hurts, but then two seconds later Cameron jerks against the desk with an inarticulate moan. Cuddy's done something extremely right, and Cameron's not sure exactly what it is until Cuddy moves her fingers and it happens again.

Cameron thought that everything she felt as a guy was concentrated before--that every sensation went straight to her dick and built there until she exploded. Now--fuck, now she knows better. When Cuddy enters her, it hurts like hell, but Cameron's more than ready, and she bites her lip harder and pushes back. Cuddy's patient, moving slowly, and Cameron knows how difficult that is, so she relaxes as best she can. It feels like forever, but finally Cuddy's head hits that spot, and there's a wild and erratic flare of pleasure so intense that it feels like every hair on Cameron's body is standing on end and her vision blacks out. Cuddy's dragging sounds out of her that Cameron's never even _heard_ before, let alone made herself. And when Cuddy reaches around and touches her dick, it's all over. White hot bliss bursts from the base of her spine through her entire body, and she's coming messily all over Cuddy's hand. A second later, Cuddy's thrusts sharpen, and then she's coming too, her teeth buried in Cameron's shoulder.

Cameron collapses over Cuddy's desk, shuddering a little. She's so relaxed she doesn't really want to get up, although the desk is digging in to her hips. Finally, she stands up and does her best to get her clothes together. Her ass aches and she hisses when she takes a step forward; it hurts, almost burning, and her legs are still shaky. Cuddy wipes herself down and tosses out the condom, and then brings some tissue to Cameron.

"You're bleeding, a bit," she says, offering the tissue. "Here. It should heal pretty quickly."

Cameron grimaces, but does her best to arrange the kleenex and her boxers, before pulling on her pants.

A few minutes later, they're nearly back to normal. Or at least what passes for normal these days.

"Are you going to let Wilson off the hook?" Cuddy zips her fly and suddenly she's all business again. There's no trace at all, somehow, that she fucked Cameron senseless on top of her desk.

Realization hits, and Cameron's mouth drops open. "House talked to you about the foursome, didn't he?"

Cuddy smiles. "He...persuaded me to consider it."

"By blowing you?"

Cuddy shrugs. "It was that or using his overpowering intellect and logic," she says, and smirks.

_So he blew you_, Cameron thinks, but she stops herself from saying it. "I'll think about it," is all she answers, and Cuddy slaps her on the back manfully.

"That's all I'm asking for," she said. "It's going to happen, Cameron. Whether you're on the guest list or not."

And that's what Cameron is left to think about for the rest of the day, during the differential, as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Chase and Foreman are shifting, too, and Chase's mouth looks even more swollen and pouty-red than it used to. Foreman's doodling hearts in the margins of the newspaper, and even House seems more smug than usual. Cameron can't stop thinking about Cuddy, and Wilson, and the test results she'd started out to deliver before lunch have apparently disappeared from anyone's mind.

It's no wonder that the diagnosis for their newest patient proves to be, in the end, inconclusive.


End file.
